Lady of the Knight

by Tori Phillips

  Hoy day! I see I will have some fences to mend this night.

  The rest of the banquet blurred in Rosie’s mind. The dancing began after the last of the twenty-four courses had been served. Though she had expected Andrew to partner her, Jack claimed the first pavan. Andrew lounged on the bench grinning like a cream-fed cat while Guy and Brandon chortled and crowed over his success. Rosie snorted. His success? Ha! If she hadn’t kept her head, he would have lost his infernal wager—and his place at court, no doubt. She did not want to think about what might have happened to her.

  Guy claimed her for the galliard, then Brandon partnered her during the basse dance. Then Jack led her through a breathless, twirling branle. Even the formidable Earl of Thornbury danced a pavan with her, and complimented her on her graceful moves. Meanwhile Andrew sat, and watched her with that look of selfsatisfaction on his face. The more Rosie thought about his smug demeanor, the more she fumed.

  When gallant Lord Washburne returned her after another basse dance, Andrew stood and took her by the arm.

  At last! Tis about time he paid me some attention. “Let us leave this merrymaking while we still have our heads on our shoulders,” he murmured as he guided her toward the entrance. “Our sovereign lord has had his eye on you for the past ten minutes, and I do not want to risk another encounter with him.”

  Rosie shot him a quick look of surprise, but then covered it with a mask of cool disdain. “Whatever you wish, my lord.”

  He chuckled. “‘My lord’ is it now? What happened to the name ‘Andrew’ on your lips?”

  Rosie refused to allow her tender feelings for him to get in the way of her righteous anger. “Have you won your wager now, my lord?”

  He expanded his chest. “Aye. A most enjoyable experiment.”

  I am nothing but an experiment? A plague upon you, my lord! She jutted out her chin. “So when will you pay me?”

  He lifted his brow. “Ah, ever the businesswoman. I had forgotten.”

  He sounded mildly annoyed, but Rosie was past caring how he felt. Since he didn’t need her anymore, she would take what he owed her and be done with the churl. In fact, the sooner she left him, the better it would be for them both. Why linger for another day or two? She knew that once he returned to his home in England he would toss her out with the rest of his rubbish. Besides, he had a wife, she reminded herself. He mumbled something that she didn’t quite hear.

  “My lord?”

  “I said I will give you your fee as soon as we are home,” he snapped.

  Home! Ha! Yours, not mine. I have no home.

  Rosie remained silent by his side until they reached his pavilion. Andrew opened the flap and ushered her inside with a flourish. Jeremy looked up from his card game with some of the potboys. A quizzical expression crossed his face. The lackeys scuttled out.

  “How goes it, my lord?” He glanced from one solemn face to the other.

  Andrew laughed without mirth. “The king was enchanted by my piece of work and rewarded her with a gold ring. The experience has fatigued us both.” He sent Rosie a private message with his eyes.

  She pretended not to notice it, but instead, began to remove the pearls from her hair. She knew she would be lost if she allowed him to lure her into his bed once more. She swept into the back chamber and pulled the drapes closed against him. Andrew whistled through his teeth.

  Rosie tore out the plaits that had held her hair and the pearls in place. Then she removed Lady Mary’s beautiful necklace and laid it on the bed. Cursing under her breath, she fumbled with the laces that tied up the bodice of her beautiful gown. She must escape before she lost her courage to leave him. Her rebellious heart broke within her breast.

  Andrew rustled the drape. “I have reckoned your wages, Rosie. You have earned seven shillings and sixpence.”

  She fingered the king’s ring. With that sum and the money she could get for the royal bauble, she would be well set up to buy her own bakery stall and to rent lodgings in a decent part of London. She stroked her golden necklace. She couldn’t sell that as well. It was her one remembrance of him. Her eyes misted. She blinked away her regrets.

  “I will take my money now, if you please, my lord.”

  He sighed. “Do you need help changing your gown?”

  She pulled the gold cords apart and wriggled out of the golden garment. “Nay, I have dressed myself all my life. I had best not grow used to your help now.” She bit her tongue and cursed the sting in her voice. Even though he had used her merely for his own purposes, he had always been kind to her.

  He cleared his throat. “Very well, Rosie. I have put your coins in a small bag on the table. Your pardon but I find I am somewhat overcome with a headache and will walk about in the cool air for a while.”

  Without waiting for her reply, he left. She bit her knuckles to keep herself from breaking down in tears. So this is how it was to end. A cool parting without even a kiss to remember him by. She touched her lips. The king had kissed her well, but he couldn’t hold a candle to Andrew. No one could kiss her into ecstasy as he did.

  She gave herself a good shake then pulled on the plainest gown in the pile. Since she couldn’t tie up her laces without help, she covered her open back with a light wool cloak. She would be thankful for its comfort when the cold weather came—when she was back in London. She mounded Lady Mary’s pearls in a lustrous heap and put them next to the candlestick where Andrew would be sure to find them.

  Tonight Rosie would walk to Calais and board the first boat back to England on the morning tide. Thanks to her hard work, she had earned enough for her passage. After that, she would be free to do whatever she wanted. The thought left her with a heavy feeling. Drawing in a deep breath, she pulled back the drape.

  Jeremy gave her a startled look. “Leaving?”

  Rosie refused to be cowed by the youth, even if he was nobly born. “Aye,” she replied. She lifted the leather purse from the table. “Mine?”

  The squire curled his lip. “So my lord said.”

  Rosie swallowed hard. She did not want to depart with such anger in her wake. “Jeremy,” she said in a softer tone. “Please tell your master goodbye for me. I fear I am not brave enough to do it.”

  He shrugged. “I knew you would bolt the minute he paid you.”

  “Tis for the best. You said he would lose interest in me after he had won his wager. You spoke the truth. He will forget all about me once he has returned to his wife.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “But his wife is—”

  “Nay!” Rosie stopped him. “I cannot bear to hear of that lady. Fare thee well, my young lordling. You will make an excellent knight one day.”

  Before he could stop her, she dashed out of the tent. Her tears fell freely down her cheeks.

  * * *

  Andrew wandered around the tents near his own and pondered how he could smooth Rosie’s feathers. If only he knew why she was angry!

  “What ho, Andrew!” Guy called from the darkness.

  Andrew gnashed his teeth. The last thing he needed now were the Cavendish brothers and their rapier wits. Brandon, Jack and Guy ambled toward him. They stank of malmsey wine.

  Brandon threw himself to the ground at Andrew’s feet. “Basking in your success, old man?” he asked.

  Jack joined him. “By the saints, I was fit to burst when the king kissed sweet Rosie.”

  Guy chuckled. “Nay, you were jealous. You wanted the king to kiss you!”

  Jack called him a foul name. Andrew rubbed his temples. He had lied when he told Rosie that he had a headache, but listening to much more of this sodden prattling would give him a pounding one.

  “So, what is the reckoning? I have forgot the sum,” Brandon asked.

  “And do you want only coin or will you accept payment in plate and jewelry?” Guy added, elbowing his brother.

  “Peace!” Andrew growled. “I will take it out in your hides if you do not hold your tongues.”

  Brandon rubbed the back of his neck.
“How now? What has made you so somber? You should be celebrating! You are now a rich man.”

  “I became that when I married my little Gwendolyn all those years ago,” Andrew murmured. He said a brief prayer for her innocent soul.

  Jack hiccuped. “So—now you are richer.”

  Andrew dredged up a sigh of despair. “Nay—much poorer tonight. I have lost the wager and I fear I may have lost it all.”

  The young men gaped at him. Jack burst into laughter. “Aye, my mind mistook. Twas you the king banished from court, not Fitzhugh.”

  “The king knew,” Andrew said softly.

  “What?” they chorused like schoolboys.

  Andrew shook his head. “He knew that Rosie was not what she appeared to be. He marked her calluses and congratulated me.”

  Guy whistled. “Tis well for you that His Grace has a sense of humor. You can keep Brandon’s money, old man. And my three sovereigns as well. This piece of tomfoolery has been worth twice as much.” He rolled in the dust and roared with laughter.

  Andrew gave them a look of pure disgust. “Nay, I will not make a penny at sweet Rosie’s expense. She has been bought and sold enough.”

  Jack sat up. “Aye, what about Rosie? What do you propose to do with her when we leave France? I cannot bring her home to my father.”

  Brandon snorted. “Why would you want to?”

  Jack drew himself up. “Rosie is my half sister. My mother died because of my father’s cruelty. I will not allow that to happen to Rosie.”

  The Cavendish brothers grew still. Then Brandon spoke. “Are you jesting with us, Jackanapes?”

  The boy shook his head. “Nay, ask your mother to tell you the tale, but swear to me that the secret remains with you.”

  Guy exchanged looks with Brandon. “Done,” he said.

  “Does Rosie know?” Brandon asked.

  Jack threw a dirt clod. “Not yet. I do not know how to tell her. The news is bound to come as a surprise.”

  Guy clapped him on the shoulder. “More like a shock, methinks.”

  Jack looked up at Andrew. “So, what do you mean to do with my sister? Make her your mistress?” He spat out the word.

  “I would marry her tomorrow, if she will have me.” Andrew gave a wry grin. “I suppose that means I must ask your permission first.”

  Jack scratched his head. “Now, here’s a goodly jest! Very well, old man. As Rosie’s only male relative, I must question your intentions.”

  The others laughed, but Andrew took the matter seriously. “I find I cannot go on without her, temper and all. She has a bastard’s name, but I will give her mine for life. She is the lady of my heart.”

  “Amen to that!” Jack murmured.

  “My lord!” Jeremy called in the darkness. “Where the devil is he?”

  Andrew smiled at his squire’s muttering. He lifted his voice. “Here, maltworm! Tush! Your noise will wake the Emerickes.”

  Jeremy nearly fell over a tent stake in his haste. “My lord, come quickly! Rosie has gone and methinks she means to sail for England.”

  Jack leapt to his feet. “’Sblood! Run away again? If you marry her, Andrew, you will need to chain her to your wrist!”

  Andrew’s heartbeat thudded against his chest. He grabbed his squire. “Which way did she go?”

  The boy wet his lips. “Methinks toward Calais. I followed her a short distance and heard her ask one of Lord Emerickes’ men-at-arms which direction it lay. Then I came straight way to find you.”

  Andrew let go of Jeremy. “God’s nightshirt! Rosie will fall into Quince’s hands if I do not find her first.”

  Guy got to his feet. “We will help you. Tell us what to do.”

  “Go to the devil, all of you!” Andrew turned on his heel. “I will do my own wooing myself.”

  Brandon called after him, “Methinks your wooing creaks and groans!”

  Andrew raced through the drowsing camp. Dogs, startled out of their sleep, barked as he passed. He prayed that Rosie had not gone too far. He prayed that she had not stumbled into the wrong company. Most of all, he prayed that he could find her in the darkness. He leaptover tent pegs and skirted the embers of dying cook fires. Whenever he met a late-night wanderer, he paused and asked if they had seen her. At last, his persistence was rewarded.

  “Aye,” a perimeter guard replied. “Not five minutes ago. She asked me to point out the Calais road.” He gave Andrew a reproachful look. “And she was acrying.”

  The man’s words stabbed him to the heart and lifted it at the same time. Tossing the soldier a coin of some indeterminate value, Andrew redoubled his pace. The blood raced through his veins and his breath came in short gasps. I am getting too old to go haring after a woman. From now on, I swear I will never let Rosie out of my sight.

  In the light of the waning moon, he saw her plodding down the rutted road. With a surge of joy, he circled around her.

  “Rosie,” he called to her softly. He didn’t want to frighten her.

  She halted and tossed back the hood of her cape. The faint moonbeams turned her hair to silver. She glanced over her shoulder. “My…my lord?” she whispered. For all her determination, fear tinged her voice.

  He stepped into the road a few feet in front of her. She jumped, then backed up a pace or two. “Tis only Andrew,” he said in the same tone he would use to gentle a skittish colt. “Why do you keep running away?”

  Rosie hesitated, then replied, “I am looking for my place in this wide world, my lord.”

  He smiled, and opened his arms to her. “Then run to me, Rosie my love, and I will take you all the way home.”

  She tossed her glorious hair. “Where your wife lives?”

  Her question caught him by surprise. “My wife has been dead for over a year, God rest her soul. My house is large and very empty. Come fill it with your laughter and your impossible ways.”

  Rosie cocked her head. “I will be no man’s mistress, my lord.”

  Andrew stepped closer to her. “Good, for I am seeking a wife.”

  Her eyes grew round. “On a highway? Tis not your style.”

  He chuckled. “I set fashion, my love, not follow it. By this time next summer, all men of good taste will be searching for their brides on the high roads and byways.” He reached for her. “What say you, Rosie? Will you take this old man as your husband? Will you trust me?”

  For a heart-stopping minute she did not move, then she met his smile and took the hand that he offered. “You are not that old, methinks.”

  He drew her to him. “I have some gray in my hair.”

  She smoothed an errant lock over his ear. “Ha! I can count the silver strands on the fingers of one hand only.”

  He slipped his arm around her slim waist and discovered that she was trembling. “I eat too much at dinner. I am soft around the middle.”

  She rubbed his stomach. “There are some younger men I know who are much softer in their heads. My Lord Stafford for one.”

  How she had hit the mark! He threw back his head and laughed at the irony of it. “Tell me true, my lady, have I won or lost this night?”

  “Do you mean me?”

  He hugged her and reveled in her warmth. “Do I ever say anything I do not mean?”

  She patted his cheek. “You say a great many words, Andrew. In truth, I only understand half of them.”

  He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers. “Then allow me the pleasure and the privilege of improving your vocabulary.”

  She laid her head against his shoulder. “Twill take a lifetime.”

  “Exactly!”

  She looked up into his eyes. “You did say marriage?”

  He kissed her hard. “Aye, and the sooner the better. At sunrise, I will rouse old Wolsey out of his great bed and demand a dispensation to be married at once. I am bound and determined to take you back to England as Lady Rosalind Ford. What say you to that?”

  She slipped her arms around his neck. “Aye, Sir Andrew Ford, I accept your offer.�
�

  He pulled her hard against himself. “Then let us begin now. For your first lesson, repeat after me—”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Now? Here? The morning is almost upon us and in faith I am very sleepy.”

  He grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. “Excellent! Repeat after me. I love you.”

  “I…” She kissed a corner of his mouth. “Love…” She brushed her lips across his. “You…” With a purr in her throat, she kissed him with reckless abandon.

  Andrew and Rosie did not notice the golden dawn.

  Epilogue

  Sunday, June 24, 1520—Midsummer’s Day

  On the last day of the Field of Cloth of Gold, three momentous events took place, though later chroniclers wrote of only two.

  In the midmorning, King Henry of England and King Francis of France laid the foundation stone for a chapel dedicated to Our Lady of Peace and Friendship, though both kings had no intention of keeping either peace or friendship with the other. The single dressed stone lay in the middle of the empty Val D’Or for a number of years until someone finally carted it away and used it in a wall.

  At noon, under a blistering sun, His Eminence, Thomas Cardinal Wolsey, celebrated a solemn High Mass on a temporary altar set up in the tiltyard. It was attended by both kings and their courts. The Cardinal, in his worldly wisdom, granted the vast company a plenary indulgence—forgiveness for any sin that anyone might have committed during the past fortnight of feasting and frolic. During the final benediction, a large fireworks that was to have been used during the final pageant that night was accidentally set alight. The unexpected appearance of a fiery green dragon overhead caused a great deal of confusion among the attendees.

  Much later that afternoon, Brandon’s young page, Mark, reappeared in the Cavendish tent. The trembling child confessed to an insatiable curiosity about pyrotechnics. His hands were covered with gunpowder in mute testimony of his noontime activities. Once Brandon finally stopped laughing, he sternly admonished the boy never to play with fire again.